But Oswald held on to the window-frame and stood on tiptoe and then he _saw_.
There was no furnace, and no base metal, no bearded men in leathern aprons with tongs and things, but just a table with a table-cloth on it for supper, and a tin of salmon and a lettuce and some bottled beer.

And there on a chair was the cloak and the hat of the mysterious stranger, and the two people sitting at the table were the two youngest grown-up daughters of the lady next door, and one of them was saying-- 'So I got the salmon three-halfpence cheaper, and the lettuces are only six a penny in the Broadway, just fancy! We must save as much as ever we can on our housekeeping money if we want to go away decent next year.' And the other said, 'I wish we could _all_ go _every_ year, or else--Really, I almost wish--' And all the time Oswald was looking Dicky was pulling at his jacket to make him get down and let Dicky have a squint.

And just as she said 'I almost,' Dicky pulled too hard and Oswald felt himself toppling on the giddy verge of the big flower-pots.

Putting forth all his strength our hero strove to recover his equi-what's-its-name, but it was now lost beyond recall.
'You've done it this time!' he said, then he fell heavily among the flower-pots piled below.

He heard them crash and rattle and crack, and then his head struck against an iron pillar used for holding up the next-door veranda.